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Alois is running late.
Prince Zenon Bal Zeus Doran thinks to himself.
Even though they are both of high enough ranks to qualify for their own individual rooms, Zenon had chosen to room with Alois, who readily agreed. It feels only natural — after all, they had been roommates all throughout their six years at the Academy, And Alois has been Zenon’s closest friend since he was five years old. Now, though, Zenon is currently alone in their shared room, despite the late hour.
Did he decide to go back to the Rockmann Mansion …?
Alois isn’t supposed to be on duty today; he should have been back by now. Then again, this is Alois we’re talking about. Zenon knows better than anyone how prone to overworking Alois is, always taking on far more than his fair share of responsibilities.
Maybe, if he were to settle down … he could learn to take things slower … after all, now that his feelings are reciprocated by that sharp-tongued, blue-haired ice witch …
By the time Alois returns, the barracks are quiet, and Zenon himself has only just decided to turn in for the night.
Slipping in quietly through the door, he sets his gloves neatly on the desk and shrugged off his cloak as if nothing in the world were amiss. His movements are precise, efficient — too precise, too careful.
Zenon, half drifting off to sleep on his bed, cracks one eye open.
“Alois, you’re back.”
“Yeah, did I wake you, Your Highness?”
“Nah, couldn’t quite fall asleep.” A pause, as Zenon notes that Alois is in common civilian clothes. “Late night out?”
“Just the library,” Alois answers evenly, lowering himself to unlace his boots.
Zenon studies him from his horizontal position on the bed. Something is wrong. Alois’s voice is steady, his posture impeccable… and yet there is a rawness in his expression, like a blade that had been pressed too hard against the whetstone.
“…And?” Zenon prompts. “Something happened?”
For the briefest moment, Alois stills, hand frozen mid-motion. Then, as if it were nothing at all, he says:
“I asked her to marry me.”
Zenon shoots upright, now suddenly wide awake. “You—what?!”
“She said no.” The words are clipped, flat — delivered like a battlefield report. Alois rises, hangs his cloak on its peg, and smooths it down as though the neatness of the fold could erase the sting of the answer. His mask is back in place, as though it had never slipped at all.
Zenon stares, heart sinking for his friend. “That’s all you’re giving me?!”
“That’s all there is.” Alois turns away, shoulders rigid, voice even. He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t explain, doesn’t so much as sigh. Because if he does, the whole façade might shatter again.
But Zenon has known him since childhood. He can see it: the tightness in the jaw, the too-straight line of his back, the silence that was more suffocating than words. Alois Rockmann, the man who never wavers, is bleeding quietly inside.
Something must have happened between them — something more than just her rejection. Perhaps she said something … perhaps they got into a fight … Zenon doesn’t know. All he knows is that Alois is hurting deep inside.
Zenon’s fists clench. “…Damn it, Alois.”
Alois doesn’t look back. He simply reaches for a book and sits down at the desk, the motion measured, and says quietly, “Good night, Your Highness.”
The signals are clear and unmistakable. The conversation is over. The mask has snapped back into place.
But Zenon is not fooled — never has been, in all these years. He leans back, eyes narrowing, mind already turning.
Zenon has never been one to meddle in Alois’s love life. Ordinarily, he simply observes, and partakes in the joy and amusement of quietly supporting his cousin and best friend. But tonight, watching Alois shutting himself away in that painful silence—
Zenon quietly resolves himself to make a rare exception — just this once—
Nanalie Hel, he thinks grimly to himself. You and I are going to have a little talk.